


you'll never know the good life

by smallredboy



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Drinking, Heteronormativity, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Pining, Season/Series 02, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 14:19:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18477997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: If it was me, I would be a good wifeI would never doubt you, ours would be a good lifeAnd we could be better than so many—House dreams of a different world when Wilson comes to him about Julie.





	you'll never know the good life

**Author's Note:**

> for the 'love triangle' square in my tropebingo card, although it's a quite different love triangle than the one i usually have in mind with that square.
> 
> title & summary are from the song _good wife_ by mika, which inspired this fic.
> 
> enjoy!

House doesn't expect to open the door and see Wilson with a defeated look in his face, a bag full of his belongings in one hand. They look at each other for a few long moments as House tries to analyze the situation.

"You _idiot_ ," he says, because he hasn't been insisting Wilson's cheating on Julie for nothing, "You told her."

"House..." He trails off. " _She_ told me."

House's eyes widen, and they look at each other. "Oh," he says.

"Can I stay for a few days?"

He draws in a breath. "Sure. Up for a beer?"

Wilson manages a smile. "Always."

He walks into his apartment, which is nowhere near spotless or anything close to perfect, but it's still House's apartment. Wilson plops down the couch and relaxes, turns the TV on and starts shuffling through channels until he gets to American Idol. His face sours a little, though, and he changes channels until he ends up on a nondescript football match.

Wilson doesn't even like football.

House looks at him. "Wow, and you're making the cripple limp around the place to get some beer."

"You're the one who knows where it is," he shoots back, but it's empty of snark.

House sighs and limps to the kitchen, taking two cold beer cans out of the fridge before heading back to the living room, putting them down on the coffee table before sitting down. He cracks one open and Wilson does the same, clinking the cans together before pulling away and taking a few sips.

"Did she tell you anything more than 'whoops, sorry, I cheated'?" House asks.

Wilson furrows his brows deeper and seems to sink into the couch cushion. It might've not been the best question he could've asked. "She told me..." he draws in a breath and closes his eyes, pressing the beer can to his forehead. "That she's been cheating for about a year now. And that she didn't have the heart to tell me."

"Ah," he says. A part of him wonders if it had anything to do with Wilson's tendency to spend holidays with him rather than with her. Jealousy is one hell of a drug, especially the one directed at your husband's only true friend. "Well, that sucks."

Wilson manages a little smile. "Thanks for the empathy, House."

House keeps his hands around his can of beer, it being all too cold as he takes sips from it. Wilson does the same, and a part of him knows he's drinking his sorrows away— but hey, House has never claimed to not be an enabler. Usually, Wilson is the one enabling him, but he doesn't mind having to swap roles once in a while.

He listens intently as Wilson rambles about it. About how Julie wouldn't tell him who it was, so it had to be one of their few mutual friends, about how he should've noticed earlier, about how he would've noticed earlier if he wasn't so busy with his job and came home even later than Julie was.

He goes back to his repertoire of non-committal, boring empathetic responses, 'that sucks' and 'I'm sorry'. He doesn't know what else to say— he's never been good at comforting people. His patients know that well and Wilson does too, although in different degrees. There haven't been too many things to comfort Wilson over; his divorce with Bonnie was a big one, especially when he dropped the bombshell that one of the reasons she divorced him was House.

And House can't help but think, as Wilson drinks and leans into him, that if it was him, he'd be a good wife. He would never cheat on Wilson, he would never ask for a divorce because he was jealous of his friendships.

He's long since been aware of what he feels for Wilson, what he hasn't dared to feel for anyone ever since Stacy betrayed his trust. It's been a rocky patch, and when he first realized, his shame and guilt couldn't be helped— one of the facts why being that Wilson had just gotten married to Julie once he realized.

He pictures it, for a second— hand in hand, a wedding reception, Cuddy looking exhausted, his team staring at them wide-eyed as they kissed; the wedding night, the kisses across Wilson's throat and face. The warmth at those thoughts isn't unfamiliar, but he still pushes it away, takes another sip of his beer.

"Well," House starts, "I'm just saying you need to find a trustworthy fourth wife."

Wilson shrugs and looks intently at his can of beer. "I don't think I should get married again. The third time wasn't the charm, and it's just... stupid. I think."

House briefly considers that. "I mean," he says, "You'll still date, no? You're not yourself if you're not out wooing every woman that crosses your path." There's a bit of bitterness in his voice, but he wouldn't admit that. Not now, not ever.

Wilson snorts and takes a sip of beer. "Yeah, I'll go on the scene sometime. Back in town."

"As always."

House remembers when Wilson went down into a downward spiral after his divorce from Bonnie, and after two months or so he went back to his old ways. Dating for a few weeks before, for any reason, they break up and then never speak again. He is _religious_ about being in good terms with ex-wives, but it's not the same with ex-girlfriends.

"I'm here to hear you ramble about your failing marriage," he says, finishing his beer and throwing it perfectly into a trashcan. It's a skill he's perfected over the years.

"I'll be sure to," Wilson says dryly.

House goes to his bedroom, undresses and sinks into his bed. He can't help but keep digging into that perfect world where he's Wilson's wife. Or husband, rather, but with Wilson's heterosexuality maybe he has to daydream that if he was a woman, everything would be alright. If he was a woman, they'd be in love.

And they'd be better than everything Wilson has had with other women so far.

House draws in a breath and stands up, a flare-up of pain that makes him swallow down a couple of pills when he gets the chance. "You can stay here for a bit if you want," he says, "But I don't know what's your interest in sleeping on a couch."

Wilson raises a brow. "I prefer you over a lifeless apartment."

Warmth pools down in the pit of House's belly, but he attempts to ignore it and turns towards his bedroom. "G'night, Wilson," he says.

"Good night, House." He smiles a little, and it creeps into his voice— "Sleep well."

"You too."

When he sleeps, he dreams of the off-white color of wedding dresses and a glass breaking underneath Wilson's foot.


End file.
